


Emotion

by whatsacleverusername



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Nightmares, One Shot, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername
Summary: I'm surprised I've never written anything primarily involving FT until now.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Bookworm
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Emotion

Jonathan Crane is a notoriously unemotional man in most if not all regards. The majority of his emotional output seems to be reserved for his books and his work, including his fury at being interrupted by one Caped Crusader. And, of course, complaining about his aching body, aged beyond his years. As such, one might be surprised to witness the sinking sense of dread washing over the good doctor as he cautiously creeps into his shared abode, physical senses searching for the danger those of the more mental variety picked up. Even more surprising would be the shattering horror striking through him, wrenching a gasp from his scarred lips, when he discovers the living room in complete disarray, his romantic housemate slumped against the wall, face bruised, lip busted, and head lolled forward as he rests on the floor like a discarded doll. Stranger still is the haste with which he rushes to the Bookworm's side, and the concern with which he's prepared to speak, but he doesn't get the chance.

Flinching away and scrambling to stand, Edwin hoarsely cries, "I didn't- I don't have it, I- I'm not lying, I-I- _Please_ , not again! Please-"

He suddenly yelps as if struck, in time with Jonathan's hand making gentle contact with the inventor's cheek. He jerks his hand away simultaneously with Edwin flinching away, quickly darting around him and attempting to flee the room, only to trip over a drawer that had somehow been pulled from the inverted end table.

"Please don't hit me again!" Edwin shouts, throwing his hands over his face. "I told you- I-I don't- I don't have it, h-he- Left a-and- I don't know where, but- I'm sorry, I don't- I don't kn-know-"

Voice soft and quiet, Jonathan carefully asks, "Edwin, what happened?"

"He left f-for the store with-" Edwin stammers. "I don't- Know when h-he'll be back, I- No!" He suddenly jumps up again, bolting for the bathroom, screaming, "please, god, don't hit me again!"

The already thick sense of dread now suffocating, Jonathan wills his steps to remain calm and slow as he follows the panicked man, though something catches his eye and causes him to divert his course. Keeping his eye on Edwin, now cowering behind the shower curtains, he carefully picks three syringes from the waste basket, one still containing a small pool of unmistakable orange liquid. Both his heart and mind begin to race at the same moment, the budding flower of his own panic heavy in his chest and spurring on worse and worse explanations, which in turn speed up his heart, and so on and so forth. A quiet, muffled sob from the shower forces Jonathan to ground himself, drawing on experiences from prior employment to guide himself through this experience. Pushing aside the shower curtain, he forcibly ignores the well-nigh deluge of tears welling up in Edwin's terrified eyes and kneels across from him on the other side of the porcelain.

"Edwin," he says calmly, evenly, no hint of emotion. "You're safe now. They're gone. This is Jon now. Listen to _me_ , not them. _Focus on me_."

The hand clamped over his mouth moves just enough for Edwin to quietly ask, "J-Jon…?"

"Yes, it's Jon," the scientist affirms. "You're safe. They left. I need you to come with me, alright? Please. I'll keep them from coming back."

There's a flash of recognition in Edwin's expression at Jonathan's words, but it's quickly swallowed up by panic again when the other man reaches for him. He curses under his breath and certainly doesn’t take the reaction to heart- it's just the toxin, the copious amount of toxin someone of Edwin's height and weight wouldn't be able to survive simply letting it work out of their system, and Edwin has been here for who knows how long, meaning it's anyone's guess how long he has. At Edwin's blood curdling shriek and hard flinch into the tiled wall, Jonathan makes the educated guess of _not long_ and grabs the inventor. It's much more difficult to ignore the way he struggles in his arms and begs for Jonathan not to hurt him anymore, and how he can feel Edwin's rapid heartbeat far above a safe pace, but Jonathan holds him fast nevertheless and carries him down to the basement. His lab. Which is also ransacked. Not wasting time lamenting the possibility of damaged equipment, he wraps one arm around Edwin and desperately searches the few unopened cabinets with the other, taking far too long to find what he needs, a vial of clear liquid. _Of course_ with no syringe, sterile or not, nearby.

As the scientist scours the chaos of his once slightly more organized desk, Edwin manages to wriggle free, rushing for the stairs, screaming incoherent German. At least Jonathan assumes it was German, as he starts struggling for breath in between the first few syllables. He hardly makes it three feet before toppling over, beginning to wheeze and grip his chest. The panic increasing tenfold, Jonathan hastily scans the mess, finally finding a syringe and grabbing it. Making the measurements in his head- one of the only instances he can do math under pressure _and_ on the fly- and overlooking the fact there was a ready needle lying around, he fills the syringe halfway with the contents of the vial and quickly grabs Edwin again, kneeling and holding him tightly as he sticks him and pushes the plunger down. It takes a sickeningly long moment, but the inventor's wheezing pleas and desperate struggling begins to die down, Jonathan readjusting to sit on the floor and hold Edwin in his lap. He takes a few deep breaths as Edwin's slow to a normal pace, his heartbeat no longer audible. Every so often, a few whimpering sobs and snippets of pleas slip through the sedation of the antidote, Jonathan trying to not let the quiet, desperate cries for help that he can do nothing to ease, reminding him that Edwin is suffering while he’s powerless, trouble him. The antidote won't work immediately due to the triple dose of fear toxin, but it could endanger Edwin _further_ to try and counteract it shot for shot. It should at least make the come down less horrifying, dampening the effects as well as keeping his body from going into cardiac arrest.

Jonathan's self soothing musing is suddenly cut short as something occurs to him- Or, rather, the lack of something. Edwin isn't breathing. No- No, holding a hand up to his mouth confirms he _is_ breathing, but dangerously shallow and ragged. Quickly checking his pulse, he grimaces and readjusts Edwin in his arms, hurriedly standing and picking him up as he racks his brain for something, _anything_ to resuscitate his love. He flies through the mess of his lab like a hurricane once more, all but sprinting up the stairs when he finds nothing. He searches through the entire house, every room regardless of the likelihood of present medical aid, even searching through the kitchen, beginning to feel as if he’s been given a few doses of toxin himself. His heart is pounding in his throat, choking him, by the time he reaches their bedroom, struggling for breath as he resigns to lay Edwin on the bed and watch over him. Perhaps what might be most shocking of all to any onlookers are the tears now melting from Jonathan’s icy eyes as he watches Edwin’s face, cradling him to his chest, scientist’s resolve crumbling as he fades more and more.

Finally, Jonathan cracks and quietly sobs, “please no… Please- Please don’t- _Please_ \- I’m sorry, I need you- Please, I’m so sorry-”

His eyes stinging, Jonathan squeezes them shut and clutches Edwin close, continuing to plead and cry into his strawberry blond hair. As he gives in to his horror, cheeks growing damp, he curses himself for letting this happen, for leaving the new batch of fear toxin out, for leaving for as long as he did, for not protecting Edwin, for endangering him the first place, for failing him, for-

“Jon…?” Edwin’s voice startles Jonathan, making him reel back to stare through wet lashes at the groggy inventor.

“W-Winnie?” he asks cautiously, carefully touching his cheek as if afraid he may shatter him.

“Mm…” Edwin grimaces, furrowing his brow, scrunching up his nose, and squeezing his eyes shut. Jonathan has never been happier to see him look so grumpy. “What- Oh…”

“What happened?” Jonathan asks, once again wrangling himself back under control despite the tears still rolling down his face.

He doesn’t answer immediately, shifting to hide his face against Jonathan, eventually stating, “Oswald won’t be thrilled about this…”

“ _What happened_?” Jonathan repeats, far more venomous than before. “What did _he_ do to y-”

“Oswald didn’t do anything,” Edwin interrupts. “He’s- Someone wanted to know… About him and broke in. I didn’t want to tell them, but they- And- Then the-”

He takes a deep, shaky breath, hand grabbing onto Jonathan’s shirt of its own accord. Jonathan doesn’t push him to finish his story, rubbing a hand against his spine soothingly as he works himself down from another panic.

Regaining the ability to speak again, Edwin tiredly mumbles, “I… I want to sl-sleep now…”

Jonathan nods, helping him move just enough to put the covers over them both. He feels Edwin’s hand tighten its grasp on his shirt again as he does so, draping an arm over his side and holding him close, kissing his forehead and gently shushing him. 

Late into the night, Edwin suddenly startles awake and upright yet again, his chest heaving as he stares into his and Jonathan’s bedroom. That was the _fifth_ nightmare he’s had tonight, each more vivid than the last. This one was no exception, the terror still clinging to Edwin as he struggles to adjust to the safety of consciousness. He doesn’t get much of a chance, however, as something touches his arm, causing him to jump and jerk his head to the side to face the origin of the sensation. Jonathan- alive, well, and no gaping bullet wound in his head dripping blood and brain matter down his face or maggots crawling from his eyes, nose, and mouth- looks at him with concern, a gentle hand loosely holding his upper arm. He doesn’t say anything, but Edwin can see the question in his expression.

“…It can cause you to hallucinate memories,” Edwin mumbles.

Jonathan nods, tentatively asking, “what did you remember?”

“I don’t- Recognize the vision, it was…” Edwin trails off, blinking back tears as he looks away from Jonathan.

Gently cupping his cheek and turning his head back to face him, Jonathan looks at him, silently inquisitive, urging Edwin to finish his sentence.

Chewing his lip, the older man says, “…There were three men, I don’t know who they were- They must have… Been in the same criminal circles as my father since they broke into my family’s home and- It was only Wilfred and I at home, but they demanded to know where my father was, but- I had to have been young then, but we didn’t… _I_ certainly didn’t know where he was, or what was happening. They- They didn’t believe us, and started- They hit my brother first, then th-they- Tied him up, turned on me, and- They k-kept yelling and demanding a-and- And Will couldn’t d-do anything, and- I-I thought they w-were going to-”

His voice cracking with a sob, Edwin leans against Jonathan, resting his head against his shoulder as he cries against his neck. Both arms wrapping around Edwin, rocking side to side and holding the back of his head, Jonathan soothingly rubs his shoulder.

“Repressed memory,” he states, simply and quietly.

Edwin nods in agreement, shifting closer to Jonathan, limply hugging him as he nuzzles against his neck. They stay like that, loosely but lovingly entwined, as Edwin’s eyes dry and his breathing evens once more.

Letting the silence hang for a moment longer, Jonathan softly says, “I’m sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Edwin quietly assures.

“I left the compound out,” Jonathan counters. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Edwin states.

“I’m so very sorry,” Jonathan says.

Squeezing Jonathan, Edwin murmurs, “please stop apologizing and lay down with me. Please. I’m-”

He doesn’t have to finish that sentence. Jonathan can feel him still trembling in his arms. He silences his apologies for letting this happen, for Edwin having to experience that, for ever letting his work be in the same building as him, and carefully lowers them both back to laying on the bed, Edwin quickly cuddling up closer to Jonathan. So close that his whole body is practically hidden against him. _Safe_. In only a moment, he drifts back to sleep, Jonathan sighing and leaning his head down to gently kiss the top of Edwin’s. He’ll be awake for him. Not that the storm of emotions will let Jonathan sleep anyhow.


End file.
